Mortality
by embracing
Summary: Death. There are two types. Dying over a long period, or sudden death. It’s horrible when you think about it. Ginny has, hard. For much much too long. Set after the last war. Angsty oneshot. First in 'Grief' series.


**A/N**: I wrote this fic, mainly because I wanted to show that really, life can be over in a second. Most people think that life's life and they don't really believe that it can all go. That's the only problem I have with Harry Potter. It's like he's invincible; but really, his life could be taken because of one single mistake.

So, here's another of my angsty rambles on death. This one's for **Auriela** who helps me talk about things, and was the one that started up this whole conversation on the receiving end.

**Summary: **Death. There are two types. Dying over a long period, or sudden death. It's horrible when you think about it. Ginny has, hard. For much much too long. Set after the last war. Angsty oneshot.

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**Mortality**

There are two types of death.

The first, dying over a long period, whether it be those that pass away during the night of old age or those that have sickness for months before dying in hospital.

The second, sudden death. Most people say that is the worst, but it doesn't mean that it hurts any more.

One of the saddest things about death, is that we all can't die at once. Or at least, that's what my mother says. That's what she whispers to me as I cry into her shoulder over the loss. Or maybe that's what I think she tells me, above the moans of my racking sobs. It's true though isn't it? Why can't we die when they do? Why do they have to leave before us?

That's the thing though, the things you should never think. The "whys", they can never be answered you see. Because no one has an answer.

Death. Some people have troubles saying the word. Some replace it with loss.

I remember my brother getting angry at that replacement. He had looked up the word "lose" in his dictionary. "To be unable to find something, often only temporarily", was what the dictionary told him. That meant to him that really a lost thing was just misplaced. And a misplaced thing could always be found if you looked long enough or hard enough. But the dead can never be found. Because they haven't really been lost. They are stuck inside your heart, or your memory. That was my brother's logic.

I thought my brother took the meaning too literally. To me, the meaning of loss, was not at all what it meant, but the feeling.

The "loss" was the feeling of intense suffocation when you find out the result.

The "loss" was the feeling of intense pain, of something that has grabbed your heart hard and fast, and twisted it and twisted it till you think it could twist no more.

The "loss" was that extra tweak more, pulling your heart to shreds.

The "loss" was that feeling of intense missing. The missing you get when you leave the house, and you swear that you've forgotten something, but you can't remember what. The missing you get when you remember that it's that person that's been lost, and you'll never see them again.

The "loss" is the feeling I get whenever I hear his name.

That's my definition of "loss". I think it's the best word there is for replacing death.

And it was that definition that made me so strong. Everyone thinks I'm the strongest person they know, but really, it's only the support and the help of others that sees me through.

I sort of always knew, knew what the outcome would be. I had hoped against it. But hope can't go against fate. Maybe that's the saddest thing. Because really, I hoped with all my heart that fate would falter. That maybe I would be proved wrong. It hurt my heart and soul when I found out the result, and that was what had broken me those months after.

Those months after, when I had cut everything off. Everyone thinks that that's the way grief goes. That that's what everyone does, and that's the way you're supposed to feel. They don't let anyone into their life. But it wasn't that I cut myself off from. No, the part I cut off was so much huger.

I was still the happy girl that I was before his death. I still gave advice to those around me. I still tried to make everyone happy. I was still that "ray of sunshine," when I walked into the room. But really it was just an act. It helped me, and I knew it helped my family and friends.

But that part that I had cut off was still there. It was the part that made me think those thoughts. "I'll never see him hold a spoon," at breakfast. "I'll never see him frown by the fireside at potion's homework," in the common room. All those thoughts ruined me. So I cut them off. I didn't think of them. It hurt too much. Everything I saw would remind me of him.

My brother pulled me out of that "stage" in grief. "Stage's" that's what they call them. He told me his theory on the word loss, taking me aside one day. It helped him too. He had been broken and was on the way to the sewing machine.

It's good that he was sent there, I needed him almost more than I needed anything. I needed him to be there to talk to. I needed him to be there when I was crying. I needed him to help me not fade away into darkness. I needed him to show me that way to the sewing machine.

So he did just that. He took my hand one day and led me to the Great Lake. There he had his sewing machine, and slowly, bit-by-bit, he brought me together.

But he missed a spot because I am still broken, like one of those dolls on the shelf that you drop, and then forget, then years after you notice it, finding that it is only a part of the background; a particle of dust on your shelf of memories. That's what that crack is.

Mum has tried to fix that crack for years now. It's that part in me that makes me break down each time the moon rises and the night starts.

It's the thing that has me crawling to her room, tears falling down my face.

It's the thing that makes me remember that he's gone for good.

It's the thing that makes me remember that I could have stopped it.

It's the thing that makes me wish I had gone with them.

It's the thing that makes me wish I'd stayed.

It's the thing that made me notice death.

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_She stares at him, at them all, from the edge of the forest. They do not know she is there. Covered by darkness, and her hooded cloak. Her eyes skim with their chocolate gaze, watching them all fight. Fight for what was right. That was why she was there. Because she knew in the end, that not all of them would survive. And she had little doubt that either of the greatest would._

_She had been told to stay at home. But she would never do so. They should have known that, but they all fight there, oblivious that she is there. _

_She continues watching, her heart screaming out wanting to help her friends and family. She gasps as she sees him fighting with a Death Eater. Her heart gets caught in her throat. Her breath escapes her. He deflects the Death Eater's attempt for kill, sending it back onto the murderer. The Death Eater falls to the floor._

_She looks around at the complete chaos that involves the valley in front of her. It is a huge clearing where they have chosen to fight. One that can hide no one. But they all know that you don't need objects to hide behind in the wizarding world. _

'_Harry!' shrieks Hermione. It has occurred. The thing that she had hoped would not. The greatest are battling it out. The others can't help him now, they too are fighting their own fights._

_She wants to run and help them, but her feet stand stuck to the ground. Her eyes are glued to the main pair. Her own brother sends another Death Eater down. It is complete madness, and yet, she can still see them. _

_Spells are deflected all over the place. The Dark Lord is taunting him, she can tell. She prepares herself to go out. She removes her cloak and looks up. _

_His eyes find hers, and the moment seems stuck in time. _

"_No," he mouths. But then time speeds up all to quickly and it's all over. _

_He has fallen, all because of one look. One look that the Dark Lord saw as an opportunity to kill. _

_Hatred boils up inside her and she sees the victorious standing over the body of him. Her wand is in her hand in a moment. And before she knows what she is doing, she has sent the killing curse to the murderer of the person she loved. It hits him in the chest, and as he falls to his knees he looks to see who has killed him. _

_His eyes meet hers and he grins, then leaves her with his cackling as it dies out. _

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Death surrounds us. We have all felt it in our own way, but those that look it in the eye are those that suffer the most. Because when someone dies, they always leave someone behind. And no matter how tragic or sudden their death, it is those that are left behind that have to suffer the loss of no longer having them there.


End file.
